


Cornflower Blue

by Cardinalnorth



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anarchy, Angst, Angst and Feels, Assisted Suicide, BAMF Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Childhood Memories, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Five Stages of Grief, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This While Listening to Radical Face, Long-Haired Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Morally Ambiguous Wilbur Soot, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Other, Panic Attacks, Philza Minecraft’s C- Parenting, Piglin culture is pog, Post-Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stabbing, These Tags Are Fun, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Younger Sibling TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), and the big one, but he’s trying, for now, no beta we die like wilbur, sbi keeps getting stuck on one of the stages, that’s what this fic is, there will be comfort later i promise, with small bits of fluff sprinkled throughout
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29942964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cardinalnorth/pseuds/Cardinalnorth
Summary: Wilbur Soot is dead by his father’s hand.Those closest to him go through grief in their own ways, trying to reconcile his good deeds with his bad ones, trying to mourn, and, eventually, trying to heal.TWs in notes.Note: this is about the characters, not the cc’s.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Phil Watson, No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Everyone, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, except Sally/Wilbur (mentioned)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	1. the end is here

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first fic on AO3, so I hope it is to your liking. If you do enjoy, it would seriously make my day if you could leave kudos or a comment.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: suicidal thoughts/intentions, assisted suicide, mild gore, and explosions/terrorism. Please keep yourself safe, and click off of this fic if these topics might trigger you.
> 
> The song for this chapter’s title is I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers. Thank you for reading!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The destruction of L’Manburg and Wilbur’s death from his own POV.

Wilbur stands alone in the button room. The air hums with a strange sort of energy, disturbed and unsettled. 

Or maybe that’s just his mind.

He hears the cacophony of fireworks going off, undoubtedly the sounds of Techno’s bloodshed. The Blade. The Blood God. But Wilbur’s brother? He almost scoffs. _No, not now._

Come to think of it, he can barely hear the fireworks over his own heartbeat, all other sounds reaching his ears blurred and muffled, like that one time when he was a kid and got dizzy after play-fighting with Tommy-

He cuts the thought off, feeling a wave of some unpleasant emotion begin to well up in his throat.

Wilbur’s gaze returns to the button. It is familiar to him now, the routine of coming to the room and losing his mind over and over again, staring at that godforsaken tiny piece of wood. Contrary to what Tommy- what everybody- seems to believe, Wilbur is aware of the consequences of pressing the button. He is well aware, having laid the TNT himself. He knows all too well that L’Manburg, his country that he built from nothing to keep his friends and family safe, would be gone if he pressed that button.  _ He _would be gone. Every time he comes to the button room, he has no intention of coming out again.

“My L’Manburg-“

The familiar melody twists itself from his throat, before he cuts it off with a dark laugh. _It’s not mine anymore._

He looks to the button.

_ And so it has to end. _

He raises his hand to the button and shuts his eyes, preparing-

“What are you doing?”

Wilbur turns his head so fast that he cricks his neck, but there is no one. 

“Phil?”

“What are you doing.” Phil’s voice repeats, quiet as if raising it would scare Wilbur into rash action, as if he were some sort of wild animal.

“I wasn’t doing anything, we- we just made Tubbo president- we- um... we elected Tubbo president, and we won! We won the war, Schlatt’s gone.” Wilbur says, tripping over his words. He can already feel his carefully crafted composure beginning to be chipped away. 

“Uh-huh.” Phil says, still quietly. Wilbur can tell Phil doesn’t believe him.

“So, you are... where exactly now?” Phil asks.

“In L’Manburg, sort of the area- you wouldn’t know, I don’t think you’ve been here, it’s the area around L’Man-“ his voice breaks, “it’s complicated, it’s geography and all that, you know, it’s geography-“

He turns away from the button and his rambling is cut off. 

Phil- the Angel of Death- stands in the narrow doorway, his wings tucked beneath a dark cloak and his typical green-and-white striped bucket hat on his head. His blue eyes are shadowed, both from the brim of his hat and from something else, unidentifiable. Wilbur feels his heart stop beating for a moment.

“...Phil?” His voice is small.

“Mm-hm.”

“Uh-“

“Yeah. In L’Manburg, you said.”

“This is L’Man-“ Wilbur chokes down the rest of the sentence. _ It’s useless anyway,  _ he thinks,  _ now that he’s seen me here- _

“Okay, I will admit-“ He can barely get the words out. “Do you know what this button is?”

He gestures to the button. His hand is shaking.

Phil hums affirmatively. “I do.”

He sounds too calm. Wilbur feels anything but calm, so he hates it.

“Have you heard the- the song on the walls before, have you heard the song?” He asks Phil, who glances swiftly around the room, at the wretched scribbles of lyrics. They’re barely even legible, having been written in the dark of night by a madman’s hand. But Wilbur knows what they say.

“I was just saying,” he continues, beginning to pace and threading a hand into his hair, stringy with sweat and dirt. “I made a point and it- it was  _ poignant,  _ that there  _ was  _ a special place where men could go, but it- it’s not there anymore, it’s not-“

“It is there.” Phil says, a father trying to comfort his child. “You’ve just won it back, Wil-“

“Phil, I’m always _so close_ to pressing this button, Phil!” He yells, voice hoarse and wild. He knows he must look deranged. “I have been- I have been here, _seven or eight times_ I have been here. Seven or eight times.” 

Wilbur can hear faint shouts from above him.

“Ah, they’re going to come- I need to block this off, I don’t want them in here, I don’t want them in here-“ He hastily blocks the doorway with blackstone bricks, and the sharp edges dig into his palms. He presses them to the wall and hangs his head.

“Phil, I’ve been here so many times. They’re fighting, they’re fighting!” He turns to face Phil so quickly that the older man flinches away from him slightly, before he tries to cover it up with a shiver.

_ It’s not cold. _

“And you want to just blow it all up.” Phil says, his tone sounding carefully crafted to abate Wilbur’s fire rather than stoke it. 

“I do.” Wilbur admits on a shaky exhale. “I do, I think, I-“

“You fought so hard to get this land back.” Phil says, fixing Wilbur with a determined stare, determined to make him believe what Phil is saying. “So hard.”

“I don’t even know if it works, Phil, I don’t even know if the button works, I could- I could press it, and it might...”  _ not do anything.  _ He finishes the sentence in his head.

“Do you really want to take that risk?” Phil laughs, a nervous laugh, as if he’s hoping that Wilbur’s answer will be  _ no, I don’t,  _ as if it’ll be just that easy to get him out of the button room and away from where he can do damage. Wilbur wishes it was that easy.

“There is a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.” Phil says. They both stare at the little piece of wood in silence for a couple seconds. Wilbur’s communicator buzzes. He ignores it.

“There was a saying, Phil.” He says softly. “By a traitor, once part of L’Manburg, a traitor- I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?”

Phil nods slightly, eyes narrowed and wary and body tense.

“He had a saying, Phil.” He meets the other man’s blue eyes, only just beginning to widen in realization, and the world goes quiet.

“It was never meant to be.”

He presses the button.

Wilbur hears the telltale sizzle of TNT igniting and knows that he’s done it. He’s really  _ done it.  _ He raises his hand in one last salute to his fallen country, and there is quiet before the eschaton, and then the first explosion happens and he is knocked backward into the back wall of the room as the front wall is blown to pieces. He is dimly aware of Phil diving to the back with him, the Angel of Death’s wings wrapping around his body as the force of the explosions push them both to the ground. His ears ring, and he hurts all over, but he can barely feel the aching pain. All he feels is a dark satisfaction.

He feels Phil get out from where he’s been crushed under him and sees him walk to where the front wall has been reduced to rubble. Wilbur hears Phil’s shocked voice, but he doesn’t know what he’s saying. The sights are blurry and the sounds are muffled, as if he is underwater. The fuzzy noise of the TNT going off gets farther and farther away, until it stops altogether and Wilbur is left to hear the echoes of it, his own breathing, and his own heartbeat. 

He stands suddenly, walking to stand beside Phil on the newly created ledge. His vision is clearing, and he can see it now. The huge crater takes up almost all of the land in his view, water pouring into it from underground pools. The air smells like gunpowder and death.

It’s all gone.

“ _My L’Manburg,_ Phil!” Wilbur roars, manic, arms thrown wide, embracing the destruction. “My unfinished symphony,  _forever unfinished!_ ”  He’s grinning, and he doesn’t know why. He isn’t happy.

He turns to Phil, grin falling off in an instant at the expression on the older man’s face. It is not anger, it is not even disappointment; it is just shocked sadness. It hurts Wilbur. He notices that the ends of Phil’s wings are shredded from the sharp debris of the explosion. That hurts Wilbur too.

It hurts him that Phil still doesn’t seem to understand. So he repeats himself. 

“If I can’t have this, no one can, Phil.”

He knows that just like his beloved country, he was never meant to make it out alive. He doesn’t  _ want _ to make it out alive.

“Oh my God.” Phil says, still staring at Wilbur like he doesn’t believe what he sees.

Wilbur takes a shallow breath and resigns himself to his fate.

“Kill me, Phil. Phil, kill me, Phil,  _ kill me. _ Stab me with the sword-“ he tugs the gleaming diamond blade out of its scabbard and tosses it at Phil’s feet, “murder me now,  _kill_ \-  Killza.  _ Killza! _ ” His own pun doesn’t make him laugh, or even smile. It’s just what his broken brain spit out.

“Do it.” Wilbur demands, staring the older man dead in the eyes. Phil makes no move to pick up the sword. He just stands there, eyes wide, mute.

“Kill me, Phil,” Wilbur repeats again. “Murder me- look, they all want you to!” He stares out at the crater, short bursts of colored light flooding it when Techno fires his rocket launcher. There are people still fighting among the wreckage. He knows that one of those people is Tommy, and deep in his mind, he hopes that when Phil ends him, Tommy will look away.

“Do it, Phil, kill me. Phil, kill me.” He says again and again, andhis father finds his voice.

“I can’t, you’re-  _ you’re my son!”  _

Wilbur is speechless as  his father’s  words hit him as hard as the explosions. And it suddenly all comes flooding back-

_Wilbur was seven, shaking under his covers. The thunder echoed in his head long after it rumbled, and the heavy rain pounded on the dirty window. He kept hearing things- the hiss of a creeper, the growl of a zombie, or the rattle of a skeleton, coming to sneak up on him in his bed. The wooden house creaked and he curled up even further under the thick yellow quilt that Phil had carefully tucked him into. He was crying without realizing it, letting out little sniffles and whimpers._

_And then he heard the door creak open._

_Wilbur froze, not daring even to breathe. There was a monster, he was sure, and it was going to get him, he was going to die-_

_“Wil?”_

_Phil’s voice whispered in the darkness. Suddenly, a dim light filtered through Wilbur’s quilt. Trembling, he peeked over the edge of it, and there was his father, poised in the doorway, holding a lantern that lit up his concerned features. When he saw the glimmering tear tracks on Wilbur’s cheeks, his expression softened. He crossed the room slowly and took a seat on the edge of Wilbur’s bed, setting down the lantern on the floor._

_“Hey, Wil, what’s wrong?” He asked gently. Wilbur just shook his head stiffly, burying himself further under covers again. “Is it the storm?”_

_Wilbur paused before nodding, and then his dam finally broke and he broke down crying, wrapping his arms around himself. “I heard the m-monsters coming to g-get me! They were gonna get me, a-and it was really dark and s-scary, I’m scared-” he broke off with a hiccup._

_“It’s all okay now, Wil.” Phil assured him. His voice was calming, and so was the hand that he put on Wilbur’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Even if there were mobs out there, we’re safe in here. It’s just like it is in the day, right? You just can’t see it as well.” Phil paused. “Tell you what, tomorrow morning we’ll look at all the scary dark places in the light, and we’ll make blanket forts in them! Do you like that idea, Wil?”_

_Wilbur looked up at him and smiled, just a small one. “Yeah.” He said, barely a whisper._

_“Okay.” Phil responded. There was a comfortable silence,_ _broken only by sounds of rain and thunder. Wilbur suddenly flinched. “I think I just heard a creeper.” He whispered._

_“Wil, can you look at me?” Phil said. Wilbur’s wide eyes met his own._

_“I know you’re scared, but I want you to know one thing,_ _okay?”_

_Wilbur nodded._

_“I would do anything and everything to keep you safe. You and Techno, and Tommy, alright?” He paused, before grinning conspiratorially at Wilbur. “And I think we can take on a creeper or two, eh?”_

_“Yeah.” Wilbur said. He really was feeling better._

_He suddenly sat up and wrapped his arms around his father’s chest. After a moment, Phil did the same, wrapping his wings around Wilbur and enclosing him in a tent of warmth and reassuring steadiness. They stayed there for an indeterminable amount of time, listening to the rain. Wilbur hugged Phil a little tighter when thunder rolled, and his father murmured words of comfort, stroking his hair._

_“Anything and everything for you, Wil.” He whispered. “Anything and everything.”_

Anything and everything? Then that would include putting a sword through Wilbur at his request, easing the pain that only grew as he remembered more and more.

“Phil,  _kill me!_ ”  His tone is stubbornly insistent, determined to make his father understand that this was what he wanted, what he  _needed_ ,  that he couldn’t go on any longer after what he had done.  _That_ was never meant to be.

Phil stares, aghast, at the sword still gleaming ominously at his feet. He slowly picks it up, even as he refuses to do with it what needs to be done. “No matter what you do,” he looks out at the destruction, still smoking in places, “no matter what you’ve done, I can’t-“

“Phil.” Wilbur interrupts him. “This isn’t- look, _look!”_ They both gaze out over the crater. “Look how much work went into this and it’s gone.”

It’s true, and both he and Phil know it. Years and years were spent laboring over L’Manburg, each brick and each plank lovingly placed, slowly building it up to a thriving nation. And Wilbur destroyed it all in a matter of seconds.  _Selfish_ ,  he heard countless voices call him in his head, and he knew that they were right. Even if he planned to live, nobody would want to speak to him. They might kill him themselves anyway.

“Do it.” He tells Phil, staring into his father’s eyes, which are glassy and horrified.  _He’s crying,_ Wilbur realizes. He had never seen Phil cry before. It hurt. Wilbur hurt him.

_All the more reason why I need to go._

“Do it-“

The sword pierces through his chest as his father pulls him tight into a fatal embrace. 

A sudden cold shoots though his body and he sinks down to his knees from the shock of it. Phil sinks down with him, wings wrapping around to enclose him, just like he used to when Wilbur was younger. He feels small in his father’s arms. They’re warm as always, in contrast to the cool metal of the diamond blade.

_It doesn’t even hurt that much,_ Wilbur thinks. He smiles a little. And then the pain shoots through him all at once, sharp and hot and tearing, and he gasps, fingers digging into Phil’s back. His father holds him tighter.

“Wil...” Phil chokes out. He can’t seem to say anything else. Instead, he lifts a shaking hand up to stroke his son’s matted hair. Wilbur curls into himself. The more intense the pain in his chest gets, the lighter he feels, until he feels nothing at all but  _calm_ ,  in a way that he hasn’t felt since he was a child with his brothers and father, and all was right in the world. He hopes that they’ll be okay. They are the hardest to let go.

He trembles, enclosed in Phil’s wings. His father holds him close and he is comforted in his last moments. Phil could never know how much that means to him.

He breathes out one last time, and fades away in his father’s arms.


	2. still alive, who you love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The destruction of L’Manburg and Wilbur’s death, from Phil’s POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs are the same as last chapter, with the added TW of child neglect. Stay safe.
> 
> The song for this chapter’s title is Perth by Bon Iver. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

Phil is alone in his house. He had just harvested a fresh crop of potatoes and is in the process of scrubbing the dirt off of them when he hears a knock at the door. 

_Who the hell could that be?_ He wonders. He doesn’t have neighbors, or any particularly close friends who might visit, and he most definitely hadn’t heard from anyone.

He grabs his sword and sheaths it in his belt, just in case, before crossing the one-room house to open the door.

He is greeted by a man with a green hunting jacket and a porcelain mask with a crudely painted on, throughly unsettling smile.

And although Phil may not  _ know  _ him, he knows  _ of  _ him. It’s Dream, the almost-deity ruling over his own SMP with puppet strings and a silver tongue. The same SMP that Phil’s sons ran to and built their lives in.

All three of them have long since stopped writing, but before they did, Phil caught little snippets of information about Dream. A master manipulator, Wilbur had written, before he and Phil had abruptly stopped corresponding. Not to be trusted. An enemy.

But Phil judges by Dream’s neutral-toned ‘hello’ that he isn’t going to kill him immediately, so he doesn’t draw his sword. Instead, he politely invites the masked man inside.  _ If he has something to say,  _ Phil figures,  _ might as well listen. _

“Alright, I’m going to make this short.” Dream begins. “You know who I am?” 

Phil nods. “Yeah. Dream, operator of the Dream SMP. My sons are there.”

“Mm-hm. I guess that’s the reason I came.” Dream’s voice gives nothing away, but his words are alarming. Phil furrows his brow. “Are they okay?”

Dream says nothing, but puts a slip of paper on the table. When Phil inspects it more closely, he sees that the numbers written on it in green ink are coordinates.

“Be there at three on November 16th.”

And Dream slips out the door, leaving Phil’s question unanswered and a small pit of dread in his stomach.

But Phil couldn’t risk not going, not after the puppet-master told him to. What if his sons weren’t safe? What if he was really needed?

So on the morning of November 16th, Phil gathers his things and sets off towards the coordinates that Dream had given him. The journey is long enough so that he has to stop a couple times, his wings aching from the steady flight. He flies over green valleys, dense forests, deserts, oceans. But they don’t amaze him, as he’s seen all of that and more back in SMP Earth.  _ That’s what comes of it when you take over the world, _ he thinks, and chuckles to himself.

As Phil gets closer and closer to his destination, he finds his heart beating faster and faster. His sons are there. And given what had happened...

_ Wilbur was the first to leave. With his guitar on his back and a small supply of food and other necessities, he walked into the main room of the house late at night, when Phil was laboring over a redstone problem. _

_ “Dad.” He said quietly, making Phil jump. _

_ “Oh, hey, Wil.” Phil smiled good-naturedly at his son. “I must have been really focused, you scared me.” _

_ Wilbur didn’t smile back, his normally warm features looking serious and pained. “I have to tell you something.” _

_ Phil’s smile dropped. He really didn’t want to deal with a dramatic secret. But he put on a patient expression and tried his best to be a good father anyways. “What is it?” He asked. _

_ Wilbur swallowed, before seemingly overcoming his nerves. “I’m leaving.” _

_ And if Phil wasn’t worried before, he definitely was now. _

_ But he just nodded slowly. “Okay.” He said carefully. “Why?” _

_ “There’s a new SMP. The Dream SMP. And I think there could be opportunities for me there- I think I want to go there. Make a life for myself. You know?” _

_ Phil stared at him. His oldest, just up and leaving what they had always known, what they had built together, for the far-off possibility of something better. But he couldn’t blame his son, as he himself had been in a similar position before. _

_ And anyway, it was bound to happen at some point. Right? _

_ So Phil just shrugged. “Yeah, I get it. Be safe, try to write, okay?” _

_ “I will.” _

_ “Bye!” _

_ But Wilbur didn’t leave; he just stood in silence. “You... you know, I’m not coming back any time soon.” _

_ “Yeah,” Phil said. “Yeah, I know. You’re a smart man, Wil, and I guess it’s time for you to go out and do stuff on your own. Just come to visit when you can, ‘kay?” Phil turned back to his redstone circuit. _

_ Wilbur still stayed. “You don’t care?” _

_ Phil shrugged. “Not really. You do what makes you happy, son.” _

_ “I just told you I was leaving home and all I get is a ‘bye’.” Wilbur sounded hurt now, and Phil tensed. _

_ “Well, it’s not a big deal,” he said, trying to pacify his son. “I don’t care-“ _

_ “And that’s the issue, isn’t it?” _

_ “What?” _

_ “You don’t care. This  is  a big deal for me, it’s a really big deal, and you act so nonchalant about it that it’s almost like you want me gone!” Wilbur’s voice had risen to almost a shout.  _

_ “You probably do,” He said bitterly. “I know Techno’s always been your favorite.” _

_ “Wil.” Phil scolded. “This has nothing to do with Techno-“ _

_“Yeah, okay, whatever.” Wilbur scoffed. “Whenever there’_ s _something big happening for me, you just shrug.”_

_ “Wil, I-“  _

_ “You know what would be nice?” Wilbur yelled. “It would be nice if you actually cared for once! You’re supposed to care-“ his voice broke- “you’re my  dad.  I know you’re all caught up in hardcore, but-“ _

_ “Wil- listen.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, trying to relieve the stress. It didn’t work. “I’m just trying to let you do what you want to do. I wanted that freedom when I was your age. I’m just trying-“ _

_ “Listen, I don’t care what you’re trying to do.” Wilbur shouted. “Whatever it is, you’re clearly not trying hard enough, and anyway it’s too late now, so screw off!” He began to storm towards the door before halting and turning back. “And, you know what? I’d rather have my dad than ‘freedom’.” Wilbur draws quotation marks in the air with his fingers. _

_ “Wil-“ _

_ “Bye.” _

_ Wilbur slammed the door behind him on his way out. _

So, yeah, Phil is worried about seeing him again. 

Tommy had flown the coop too soon after, following his brother like he was his shadow. Except he didn’t dignify Phil with a verbal goodbye; just a messy note left on his bed, short and blunt. 

_I’m leaving to join Wilbur._ Tommy had scrawled on the crinkled paper.

_Maybe I’ll write, maybe I won’t. Bye._

_-Tommy_

Phil had woken up to Techno pacing and hyperventilating, the intensity of his oldest son’s emotions bringing out his piglin side, his teeth beginning to turn into tusks and his ears growing longer and more pointed. Phil read the note in horror, and quickly grabbed a sword and bow, running outside to hunt and try and distract himself. He couldn’t stand being inside anymore. The voices screamed at him.

_Bad dadza_

_Failed father_

_No_

_No_

_No_

Phil let them scream then, but today, he drowns them out. His sons need him clear-headed, whatever he’s about to walk into. Anyway, his sons  _had_ written, seemingly overcoming whatever grudges they had against him enough to let him know that they were safe, and a little bit of what they were doing. After the initial rush of relief that Phil had felt upon seeing who the letters were from, he had furrowed his brow at the words on the parchment. Revolution, something called L’Manburg, war, independence.

Phil was a little worried, admittedly, but hadn’t he been up to similar things not ten years earlier? 

So, he just smiled at their antics and awaited the next letter.

Until it didn’t come.

The last he heard from either Wilbur or Tommy was that Wilbur was running for president in his country. Then, all communications abruptly stopped, and he had begun to really worry. Until, one day, Techno came into the room where Phil was sitting, staring into the crackling fire.

“I got something from Tommy.” His oldest son had said quietly.

Phil whipped around to face him, seeing the scroll of paper in his hand.“What’d he say?”

“Do you really want to hear?” Techno said grimly, and Phil swore his heart had stopped for a moment.

“Tell me.”

Techno took a deep breath.

“Wilbur lost the election. The new president- this says his name is Schlatt- kicked Wilbur and Tommy out of the country. They’re living in hiding, and Tommy wants me to come help.”

_Another one gone,_ Phil had thought.

“Mm-hm.” He said, carefully calm. “Are you going?”

“I think so.” Techno admitted. “The nerds clearly need some fighting force.” He sounded guilty, and Phil felt guilty for making him sound that way. His voices crowed in sympathy.

“You should come too.” Techno said, rust-colored eyes meeting Phil’s own blue ones. “Two more people would be better than one.”

Phil shook his head. “Nah, they don’t want to see me. You go ahead, though. Be safe. Bring a couple gapples and pearls just in case.”

“Gapples? Cringe, I don’t need gapples.” Techno had joked, before his expression turned more serious. “I’ll try and write. When I can, I mean, it sounds like I’ll have a lot to do-“

“It’s fine.” Phil assured him. “Go help your brothers. I can manage.”

“Right.” Techno had said. “Bye, Phil.”

“See you soon, Tech.”

Techno didn’t write, not even once.

—=—

In the present, Phil flies and flies until he starts to see buildings; they look like rectangular ants from his bird’s-eye view. And suddenly, a firework shoots upward and explodes in front of him, the lime green sparks flying dangerously close to his face and wings. He rears back in midair, scanning the ground for the attacker. But when he sees the minuscule green and white shape there, he realizes that the firework wasn’t an attack. It was a signal, and the signaler is Dream.

Phil launches into a nosedive, pulling up just before he hits the ground with practiced ease and landing softly on his feet in front of Dream, whose presence is as unnerving as ever.

“What now?” He asks, the impatience he feels creeping into his tone. “You said my sons were in danger, I need to be there.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Phil can almost hear the smirk behind Dream’s mask. “But yes, they  _could_ be in danger.”

“Then why are you wasting my time?” Phil spits. The voices chant so fast on top of each other that they’re unintelligible, but the message is clear.

_Get to the sons._

_Keep them safe._

“Actually,” drawls Dream, “I’m helping you. I know where they are, and you don’t. Do you have your communicator?”

Phil taps the inside of his ear to check, feeling the little speaker there. “Yes.”

“I’ve connected yours and Wilbur’s-“

“What’s going on with Wilbur?” 

“-it‘ll provide you with coordinates. Turn it on once you start flying again, to... check in with him. There’s a certain button, connected to a lot of explosives, so...” Dream says delicately.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phil sputters.

But Dream just lifts his mask so Phil can see his arrogant grin, waves goodbye, a sharp movement of his gloved hand, and pearls away.

As much as he hates to do it, Phil realizes that he has to follow Dream’s instructions, no matter his own anxieties and no matter how much he hates the man. 

_It could be a trap,_ he thinks briefly, before dismissing the thought. Dream would have killed him then and there, and anyway, Phil has never done anything worthy of the other man’s enmity. And even if it was a trap, wasn’t he obligated to spring it? For the sake of his sons, apparently of Wilbur specifically, he has to try.

He takes off, breathes in and out, and turns on his communicator.

“My L’Manburg-“

His son’s singing is the first thing he hears, crackling through the small speaker. But his voice is shaky enough that Phil picks it up even through the bad quality of the transmission.

Wilbur doesn’t sound okay.

Phil takes a deep breath and speaks.

“What are you doing?”

There is silence for two or three long, painful seconds, and then-

“Phil?”

“What are you doing.” Phil says quietly. He somehow feels like raising his voice even the slightest bit would break the strange spell allowing him to talk to his son again.

“I wasn’t doing anything, we- we just made Tubbo president- we- um... we elected Tubbo president, and we won! We won the war, Schlatt’s gone.” 

Phil vaguely remembers Tubbo from Tommy’s letters. Tubbo was his youngest son’s best friend. _And_ _another war?_ Phil doesn’t know what’s going on, but he can tell from his son’s voice that something is  very  wrong.

“Uh-huh.” Phil says. “So, you are... where exactly now?” He needs to get to Wilbur, to make sure he’s safe and that he stays that way. Dream’s coordinates clearly weren’t totally accurate, as Phil lands in a shallow valley with no Wilbur in sight.

“In L’Manburg, sort of the area- you wouldn’t know, I don’t think you’ve been here, it’s the area around L’Man-“ Wilbur’s voice breaks, “it’s complicated, it’s geography and all that, you know, it’s geography-“

As his son rambles, Phil finds a tunnel going into the side of a hill. He steps inside, the smell of the earth around him stifling. He usually finds that smell pleasant; not now.

As he walks further down the tunnel, he begins to hear his son’s voice both in the earpiece and outside of it, and he knows that he has gone the right way. His heart pounds away in his chest and the voices are screaming.

He reaches the end of the tunnel, but there’s no light.

There’s Wilbur.

He has traded his typical soft, muted clothing for a dark trenchcoat and black pants. He has kept his red beanie. His white shirt is stained with something that Phil really, really hopes isn’t blood.

He knows it probably is.

Wilbur turns and stares back at Phil, and he looks  _terrible._ He has dark circles, a purple bruise on his cheek, but worst of all is the dead look in his brown eyes. Phil remembers how warm they used to be, lit up with a broad smile. The Wilbur that stands before him now looks like he hasn’t smiled in weeks, months. 

_What the hell happened?_ Is all Phil can wonder.

“...Phil?” Wilbur says, eyes wide. His voice is small.

“Mm-hm.”

“Uh-“

“Yeah. In L’Manburg, you said.”

“This is L’Man-“ Wilbur chokes on his words.

“Okay, I will admit...“ He gestures to a small wooden button on the front wall of the stone room, “Do you know what this button is?”

Phil realizes that that must be the button that Dream had told him about, and his heart drops to his stomach. “I do.” He hums. It takes a lot of effort to keep his voice steady.

“Have you heard the- the song on the walls before, have you heard the song?”

Wilbur gestures to the words written- or scribbled- on the walls. Phil can barely read them, but he does see the main theme of the lyrics.

_My L’Manburg_

_My L’Manburg_

_My L’Manburg_

_My L’Manburg_

An anthem.

“I was just saying,” Wilbur keeps rambling on, tugging on his hair where it comes out from the front of his beanie and pacing quickly, back and forth, back and forth. “I made a point and it- it was  _poignant_ ,  that there  was  a special place where men could go, but it- it’s not there anymore, it’s not-“

“It is there.” Phil says immediately, remembering what Wilbur had said moments earlier, that his side had  won  his country back. “You’ve just won it back, Wil-“

“Phil, I’m always  _so close_ to pressing this button, Phil!” Wilbur shouts, shoulders hunching and hands digging into his hair, and Phil is horrified by what he sees. This is his son in the most general sense only; this madman is nothing like the Wilbur he had always known. Warm, bright Wilbur, his songs and his smiles, his wit, his determination, his heart of gold.

That was Phil’s son.

“I have been-“ Wilbur continues shouting, “I have been here, _seven or eight times_ I have been here. Seven or eight times.” 

Phil hears shouts of multiple people, the sounds getting getting ever closer.

“Ah, they’re going to come- I need to block this off, I don’t want them in here, I don’t want them in here-“ Wilbur mutters, hastily blocking the entrance with blackstone, and Phil is suddenly made aware of the fact that he is trapped, with a very unstable man inches away from a button connected to- according to Dream- a  _lot_ of TNT. He reminds himself that he has his sword if it became necessary to use it, and promptly is horrified at his thought.

“Phil, I’ve been here so many times.” Wilbur says. “They’re fighting, they’re fighting!” Suddenly, he turns to face Phil so fast, eyes blazing with crazed energy, that Phil can’t help but flinch away. The flash of hurt in Wilbur’s eyes makes him try to cover it up with a shiver, but he knows Wilbur doesn’t buy it.

“And you want to just blow it all up.” Phil says, trying to keep his tone calm, and by extension, calm _ ing. _

Wilbur breathes out a shaky breath.

“I do. I do, I think, I-“

“You fought so hard to get this land back.” Phil says firmly, because even if he hasn’t been filled in on this most recent war, he can’t imagine Wilbur doing anything other than fight for the country that he loved so much. “So hard.”

Wilbur bites his nails, a nervous habit that he’s had since childhood. “I don’t even know if it works, Phil, I don’t even know if the button works, I could- I could press it, and it might...”

“Do you really want to take that risk?” Phil chuckles nervously, desperately hoping that the answer is no, but the man in front of him has proven to be such a wild card that anything could happen, really.

“There is a lot of TNT potentially connected to that button.” Phil continues, and they both turn to that little piece of wood on the wall.  _Funny,_ Phil thinks.  _Something so small could ruin something so big._

He hadn’t really noticed the silence until Wilbur broke it.

“There was a saying, Phil.” Wilbur says, and his voice is calm, unsettlingly so. “By a traitor, once part of L’Manburg, a traitor- I don’t know if you’ve heard of Eret?”

Phil nods stiffly. He remembers that name from Tommy’s earliest letters. 

The air buzzes.

“He had a saying, Phil.” Wilbur’s voice is filled with a eerie finality, and Phil realizes what he’s going to do a second too late.

The air is still.

“It was never meant to be.” Wilbur says, and presses the button.

Phil hears the TNT ignite, the sizzle terrifying in a way that it never was to him before. And he takes action for once as the first explosions hit, diving forward and shielding Wilbur with his wings, because Prime, he is  _not_ going to lose his son  _again._ Together, they are thrown backward, and Phil can hear the bits of rubble and debris whistling past them through the air like bullets. Just before they hit the back wall, Phil turns them both around so only he his the hard stone, and Wilbur’s impact is cushioned by his body.

Phil’s hearing rings from the constant explosions, and when those fade, the sounds of Techno’s fireworks and screams assault his ears too. The light coming into the room from where the front has been demolished is blinding, and Phil has to stand up and blink a couple times before he can see _it._

A giant crater is all that’s left of what once must have been his sons’ L’Manburg.

“Wil!” He says. His wings are starting to bleed and sting from the sharp stones that cut them in the explosion, but he pays the feeling no mind. “It’s all gone!”

Wilbur stands suddenly, pushing himself up with a bloody fist, before staring out at the remains of his country. There are tear tracks shining on his cheeks, cutting through the soot and grime there.

_ “ My L’Manburg, _ _Phil!”_ Wilbur roars, arms open wide, embracing the destruction. “My unfinished symphony,  _ forever unfinished!” _

The look in Wilbur’s eyes has changed. Not even minutes earlier, it was dead, cold and lifeless. But now, his eyes  _ burn  _ with mania, which, to Phil, is equally heartbreaking. Both looks are terrifying. Neither one is the look of his son.

Wilbur’s broad grin drops when he sees Phil’s expression. 

“If I can’t have this, no one can, Phil.” He shouts, throwing his arms up in a gesture of... of what? Frustration? Joy? Phil doesn’t know.

“Oh my God.” Phil says, because that’s all he can articulate.

Wilbur’s expression suddenly changes, to some emotion that Phil can’t pinpoint, but it scares him how quickly the fire from moments earlier goes out of Wilbur’s eyes.

And then Wilbur speaks.

“Kill me, Phil.” He says, and Phil stops breathing, “Phil, kill me, Phil,  _ kill me. _ Stab me with the sword, murder me now,  _ kill-  _ Killza.  _ Killza! _ _”_ Phil stares at him, aghast, as he tosses the diamond sword at Phil’s feet.

“Do it.” Wilbur demands, meeting Phil’s eyes, and Phil knows then that the younger man will never find peace unless Phil fulfills his request.

“Kill me, Phil,” Wilbur says again, pleading. “Murder me- look, they all want you to!” 

Phil looks out across the crater, and at the figures moving around within it like ants. 

Two of those are Tommy and Techno. Phil knows that they wouldn’t want him to do it. Wilbur’s their  _ brother. _

“Do it, Phil, kill me. Phil, kill me.” Wilbur demands again and again, and Phil breaks his horrified silence at last.

“I can’t, you’re-  _ you’re my son!”  _

Wilbur’s face falls, and Phil can tell he’s remembering too.

—=—

_Phil messed up._

_Techno was twelve, Tommy was five, and Wilbur was eleven._

_That cold November morning, he decided to take Techno hunting again, as his eldest son’s inner voices had gotten particularly hungry for blood recently. Tommy had begged and begged to go as best he could with his limited vocabulary; “Please let me kill!” He had squeaked exuberantly, much to a Phil’s mild horror and amusement. But in the end, Phil gave him a decisive ‘no’._

_“Sorry, Toms.” He said. “Maybe when you’re older, okay?”_

_Tommy pouted, and Phil turned to Wilbur. “Keep an eye on him, Wil. We won’t be gone too long.”_

_“Sure, I will...” Wilbur said skeptically, almost like a question, looking at Phil quizzically. Phil shrugged it off. “See you, boys. Techno, come on.”_

_His Piglin son followed him out the door._

_They had a fine time, working together extremely well, less as father and son and more as close comrades. Phil was fine with that. They began the journey back with ample meat and smiles on their faces._

_Phil’s smile dropped fast when he arrived to find the house on fire._

_But he was practiced in staying calm, and he had taught Techno to do so as well. They worked quickly and efficiently, dumping bucket after bucket on the flames until they were no more._

_And then Phil remembered Wilbur and Tommy._

_“We need to find them.” He told Techno, trying to push down the panic and the guilt that he hadn’t thought of his sons’ safety sooner._

_Techno nodded, clearheaded as ever. “You check outside, I’ll check in the house.”_

_Phil checked the clearing around the house, then the forest, then by the river, looking for any signs about where his sons had gone, footprints, maybe. But the ground was too hard and dry for footprints to have been made. He was beginning to really panic when he heard a shout._

_“Dad!”_

_He turned around to see Wilbur running toward him, dragging Tommy by the hand behind him. Aside from a bit of dirt, they didn’t look too bad, and Phil started to calm down again._

_Tommy tugged his hand free from Wilbur’s and sprinted towards Phil._

_“Tommy- oof!” Phil began and was cut off by the kid barreling into him and wrapping his arms around him as much as he could. He was surprisingly heavy for such a small child, and Phil almost lost his balance. He hugged him back._

_“Hey, it’s okay, bud.” He said. He looked up at Wilbur, his middle son’s eyes serious in a way that was incongruous with his youth. “What happened.” Phil asked._

_He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought that Wilbur looked upset._

_“Neither me or Tommy know how to cook food, Phil.” Phil almost flinched at the use of his name instead of ‘dad’. He’d gotten used to the familial label._

_“I showed you a couple weeks ago, didn’t I-“_

_“How was I supposed to remember that?” Wilbur yelled. “That was one time. I didn’t know what to do, okay? I put the beef on the fire and the next thing I know the wall is burning, so me and Tommy ran out here.”_

_“You didn’t get the water buckets?” Phil said incredulously, letting go of Tommy and standing up, voice raising without intention._

_“I wanted to keep my brother safe! Who cares about the house?”_

_“All of us do, it’s where we live, Wil! You know how to deal with a fire, you should have gotten the water-“_

_“I got my brother out, you should be happy! I did my best, I panicked, you left us alone-“_

_“You found them.” Techno emerged from the forest. He breathed out, a barely visible exhale of relief, completely unaware of the argument that he had interrupted._

_“I did.” Phil said tersely. “Let’s go fix the house.”_

_Two years later, Phil took Techno to see the farland worlds, the places that few ever visited but that he loved for their wild characters and unspoiled landscapes. They had a great time, the trip taking two weeks (although it felt shorter)._

_Then they came home to a distraught Tommy crying about how Phil had missed his birthday, and Wilbur finally broke, screaming at him about how he was a terrible father. Wilbur apologized the next morning._

_Phil didn’t feel great anymore._

—=—

In the present, Phil stares at Wilbur, all desperate eyes and hopeless demeanor, and feels the crushing guilt overwhelm him, suffocating in the way that it presses his soul into the ground. 

_This is my fault._ He thinks, over and over.  _If I had been there for him, this wouldn’t be happening. I failed._

He knows it’s true, and the voices do too, their many incensed howls of ‘no’ and ‘bad’ echoing inside his head.

He’s been a terrible father. He realizes that and it is more painful than any physical wound. 

_You never listen._ The voices say.  _Not even when they beg..._

Wilbur is begging him-

“Phil,  _kill me!”_ Wilbur says  _again,_ knocking Phil out of his despairing reverie into an even worse reality.

He looks down at the diamond sword at his feet, shimmering with deadly enchantments. He can’t kill his son, he can’t-

And yet he picks up the blade, gingerly.

“No matter what you do.” He pleads. “No matter what you’ve done, I can’t-“

“Phil.” Wilbur interrupts him. “This isn’t- look,  _look!_ _”_ Phil’s eyes move as if against his will to gaze upon the smoking crater that was once the nation of L’Manburg. “Look how much work went into this and it’s gone.”

Phil knows Wilbur’s right. He got the letters about the founding of the country, Wilbur’s and Tommy’s excitement shining through their writing in the slight messiness of the letters. It sounded like Wilbur was really happy.

_He loved it so much. So much..._

Phil is horrified to realize that he has begun to cry, his vision growing blurry as he tries to prevent the tears from falling.

“Do it.”

Phil stares across the room at his son, shoulders hunched, clearly too far gone for anyone to reach him.

But in the end, he is still Wilbur. He is still Phil’s precious son with the beautiful songs and the bright smile and eyes and steel wit and  _good_ heart, and Phil just wants him to rest.

“Do it-“

Phil puts the sword through his son’ chest and pulls him to his own.

Wilbur shudders and Phil holds him as they both sink to their knees. He isn’t one to balk at gore, but the sight of the sword protruding from his son’s back is so nauseatingly brutal that he has to shut his eyes. The tears drip onto Wilbur’s shoulder.

Wilbur suddenly gasps, a cut off, broken thing, and Phil hugs him tighter on an impulse, his wings sheltering the both of them. Wilbur’s clearly in pain, and Phil wants nothing more than for it to stop.

“Wil...” He chokes out.  _I’m sorry,_ he wants to say.  _I failed you. I love you so much._ Has he ever said that to Wilbur? He can’t remember.

But he can’t seem to say anything, so he just lifts his hand up and gently strokes Wilbur’s hair, dirty and matted. Phil remembers how soft it used to be. Wilbur shivers and shrinks into himself, curling around the sword.

Phil has never felt so utterly helpless in his entire life.

Gently, he lowers his son onto the ground, still holding him close as he trembles. But now he can see his face.

Wilbur has a soft smile on his face, like the one that Phil first fell in love with when he found him in the forest, singing quietly to himself. Like when Phil brought him home for the first time to meet Techno.

_He was so excited to have a family._

The smile that Wilbur wears is the same smile that Phil saw when they made the trade to get his guitar. Phil remembers how he used to play it every single day, and how when he was scared or sad or angry he would just take it out and hold it, laying his cheek on the smooth wood and closing his eyes. Wilbur never believed it, but Phil had always loved his songs. He loved hearing his son’s voice on cold winter mornings, when he was sitting by a crackling fire and strumming peaceful chords, looking equally peaceful as he sang the lyrics which he had labored over for weeks.

_I’ll never get to hear him sing again._

Wilbur smiles, and that image will be branded into Phil’s mind forever. Phil doesn’t know what to do, so he just hugs him. He hugs him and feels his son’s chest rising and falling more and more shallowly against his own.

And then it stops.

And Phil breaks.

_You can rest now, Wil. It’s okay. You can be peaceful._

_My son._

He stays there holding Wilbur for an indefinite amount of time, because he just  _can’t_ let go.

He doesn’t get up until Tommy comes into the room.

And screams.

And screams.

And screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Tommy was actually the first to come to the Dream SMP, but having it be Wilbur works better for my plot, soooo...
> 
> Also, yes, I reused my own dialogue, what about it?
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the angst, but I hope you enjoyed!


	3. heaven a moment ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s reaction to it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tommy’s POV might be the hardest to write for me, but I think I pulled it off reasonably well. His character makes me so sad.  
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> The song for this chapter’s title is Repeat Until Death by Novo Amor.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: blood, mild gore, a dead body (not very graphically described, though) and explosions. Stay safe.

Tommy can’t believe it when he sees the message on his communicator.

Everything had moved so fast. Pogtopia won the war, and Wilbur handed the presidency over to Tubbo. Tommy had grinned ecstatically up at his best friend on the podium.  _ He deserves it.  _ He thought. Tubbo grinned back at him.

_ There was a traitor,  _ Dream had said, his voice monotone and unnerving. But Tommy and the others laughed it off. Whoever the traitor was, they  “didn’t even do shit” (in Tommy’s own words.) 

And then it all went downhill.

One second, everyone was basking in the glorious feeling of victory, and the next, Techno was firing his fireworks again, everyone was fighting again, for some reason Phil was there, and Tommy was confused as  _ shit. _

They fought for what must have been hours but mercifully felt like only minutes. The sounds of Techno’s fireworks made Tommy’s ears ring. A stray firework flew past his ear, audibly whistling, and detonated right by his head. He was knocked onto the ground, the cold stone pressing against his bloodied cheek and the world going silent from the deafening sound of the firework.

But Tommy stood up again, because there was no time to rest. There never was.

But he was on one heart, so he might have to. 

He scrambled up a hill and climbed up to the roof of a building, panting and coughing from the overexertion. Everyone was fighting, and he was just  so _tired_ _._ The exhaustion was bone-deep, seeping in through the cuts and bruises on his skin.

 _ Wait. _ Tommy realized.  _ Not everyone. Where’s Wilbur? _

He sent a quick message to his brother on his communicator, and put it out of his mind as more fireworks came his way.

Later on, Techno said Tommy was trying to be a hero.

He didn’t feel like a hero when he ran for his life.

He didn’t feel like a hero when Dream said that, in fact, the traitor was  _ Wilbur.  _ He didn’t believe that, anyway.

And he didn’t feel like a hero when, all of a sudden, L’Manburg,  _ great L’Manburg _ _,_ was a smoking crater in the ground.

Tommy remembers screaming, frozen to the spot as he watched the explosions, debris billowing up into clouds of dusty despair. It just kept on going .

_ Boom. _

_ Boom. _

_ Boom.  _

_ Boom. _

And finally, it stopped.

Tommy’s broken his fair share of other people’s ear drums, buthis own have always remained intact. Now, though, he suspected that there was some lasting damage, as he couldn’t hear a thing other than the endless echoes of TNT going off. Were those sounds real or in his head? He didn’t know.

_ All of it’s gone. _

_ Oh my god. _

In that moment, he grieved for L’Manburg like it was family.

And as the smoke cleared, two figures came into view, standing in the middle of what must have once been a room, but was now only a rapidly eroding ledge.

Tommy recognized both figures almost immediately. One was Phil with his bucket hat and wings, and the other was...

_ Wilbur.  _

His brother. He actually did it.  _ He actually blew it up.  _

Tommy’s head spun. Wilbur loved L’Manburg, he wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have-

But Tommy’s country was a crater in front of him. The proof was there.

The burst of a firework flashed into his vision, but he stood motionless, staring at his brother and father.

And then he watched as Phil picked up a diamond sword, and suddenly Wilbur was on the ground and Phil was holding him close.

—=—

Now, Tommy receives the message on his communicator.

_ WilburSoot was slain by Ph1LzA _

His heart stops.

_ That can’t be true, there’s no way, that can’t be true...  _ he thinks over and over again.  _ It’s a glitch, or a hack, or  something. _

_ Right? _

But his brother is on the ground, and it looks like there’s a sword through his chest...

Before he can think about it too hard, Tommy abandons the battle and races to the ledge, but it’s high, too high for him to climb to.

But he tries anyway, and by some incredible feat, he manages to scramble up the sheer rock face, feeling the sharp pebbles piercing his palms. He feels like he’ll pass out, his body screaming for rest.

_ Not a good time.  _ He tells it, and continues on, trying not to think about how it’s a long,  _ long  _ way down.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ he thinks.  _ I need to get to Wilbur. _

He reaches the overhang of the ledge, and with one last effort, pulls himself over.

It feels like his heart stops.

Wilbur is lying on the ground, so pale that it’s almost ghostlike, eyes glassy and blood coming from his mouth.

Phil is draped over his motionless body, chest heaving with silent sobs, and his wings that shield Wilbur almost block  _ it  _ from Tommy’s view.

There is a sword through Wilbur’s heart. He isn’t breathing.

A scream tears itself from Tommy’s throat, and it doesn’t stop until his voice ceases to work.

He falls to his knees and cries, and cries, and cries.

—=—

_ Wilbur. _ Tommy repeats his brother’s name over and over again inside his head, like a prayer or an affirmation. His eyes are closed.

_ Wilbur. _

_ Wilbur. _

_ Wilbur- _

“Why?” His voice comes out cracked and broken. He doesn’t know who he’s asking, or what he’s asking about.

But Phil just takes a shaking breath and whispers,

“I don’t know.”

Tommy opens his eyes, and he can see his father’s grief manifested in the shimmering trails on his cheeks. His eyes flicker to Wilbur.

There is the ghost of a smile on his brother’s face.

“Wilbur.” Tommy whispers aloud. Phil looks at him with wary concern. 

Without another word, Tommy lunges forward and wraps his arms around Wilbur’s body, looking for something,  _ anything _ , that would make it feel like the world _wasn’t_ crumbling down around him.

He squeezes his eyes tight shut again and breathes in, feeling the soft, worn leather of the trenchcoat that Wilbur had taken to wearing since their exile against his cheek. It smells like gunpowder and sweat and despair- and most sickeningly, the acrid, metallic scent of blood- but underneath those terrible reminders, it smells like Wilbur. Wilbur, Tommy’s brother. Before Pogtopia, when his laughs were frequent and his smiles even more so. Tommy remembers the smell from the times when Wilbur pulled him into a hug, warm and comforting, and despite how much Tommy insisted that he was a  _big man_ ,  in Wilbur’s arms he felt like a little kid. If Wilbur told him everything was okay, then it was. If Wilbur was worried, he was worried too. 

And Tommy tried to be as good of a brother to Wilbur as Wilbur was to him, he really, really did. He tried to ask him how he was, had he written any new songs lately, did he have a good sleep...

Tommy later found out that Wilbur almost never slept if he could help it.

He watched his brother deteriorate in Pogtopia. With every passing day, the walls of the ravine felt closer and the ceiling higher. It once occurred to Tommy that it looked like an open wound.

But he believed that it was being stitched up.

He thought that things were getting  _ better. _

He felt the unfamiliar leaping emotion of real joy for the first time in  _ months  _ when the war was won, and when Wilbur made his speech, every bit the hero that Tommy idolized.

Wilbur was Tommy’s leader- the leader of so many others, too- Wilbur was Tommy’s mentor, but most importantly, Wilbur was his brother. His older brother who loved him more than anyone ever had, and Tommy loved him too. So,  so much.

Kneeling in the rubble of Wilbur’s symphony, Tommy cannot see a future for anything or anyone, least of all himself.

_ Wilby- _

_ Wilbur. _

_ What am I supposed to do now? _

_ Wilbur... _

_ Why did you leave me? _

_ I thought you cared! _

_ Please- _

_ I love you. _

_ I love you. _

_ I love you. _

Tommy is flailing in a deep, dark ocean. Wilbur was his lifeline, once.

He’s been flailing for a while, actually.

Something taps him on the shoulder. He doesn’t look up, because if he does, he’ll have to see Wilbur’s lifeless face again, and he  _ can’t fucking handle that. _

Tommy’s shoulder is tapped again, and he makes sure to turn away from Wilbur’s body before opening his eyes. Phil’s wing was what roused him, he realizes, and through the blur of his tears, he can see that it is shredded and bleeding. The sight is yet another blow.

“Toms.” Phil says quietly. “Go.”

Tommy just stares at him.

“Your friends need you. The battle’s not over.” Phil says, and somehow that strikes a nerve.

_ “I don’t give a fuck.” _ Tommy half shouts, half sobs. “I don’t give a fuck about the stupid battle, okay, Wilbur’s dead! My brother’s dead, and _ you killed him!” _

“He asked me to.” Phil whispers, and Tommy is struck dumb.

“What?”

“He asked me to kill him.” Phil says, and although his face is hidden behind his hands, Tommy can tell from the shake of his shoulders that he is crying.

_ “ And you did? _ _”_ Tommy screams at him. “You-“

“He was  _begging,_ Tommy. You didn’t see him, you didn’t see what he was like, I had to-“

“I did!” Tommy shoots back. “I was with him  _ every fucking day  _ in Pogtopia, I watched him- I watched him  _ lose his mind,  _ and you weren’t there.”

There is a moment of silence. 

“You  _ killed  _ him.” Tommy says again.

“I just wanted him to rest.” Phil’s voice cracks, and Tommy looks up at his father. His eyes are red-rimmed and his wings are ripped, and Tommy’s heart is so heavy-

But then he sees the blood on his father’s hands.

His brother’s blood.

He takes a sharp breath, almost a gasp, and  _ runs,  _ climbing back down from the ledge so fast that he’s really just falling. He ignores the pain from the tumble and keeps running and running- despite the fact that he can’t even  _see_ from the tears that sting his eyes, leaping among the rubble of L’Manburg-

Yet another thing that now makes his mind scream  _Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur._

Tommy throws himself into the battle with the image of his brother’s final soft smile burning in front of his eyes.


	4. burn your kingdom down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techno slips away after the battle, oblivious to Wilbur’s fate. He soon finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Techno and Wilbur are my favorite characters, so this was super fun to write! I don’t have a ton to say about this chapter, I hope you like it.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: night terrors, a little bit of blood, voices in one’s head (it is Techno, after all.)
> 
> The song for this chapter’s title is Seven Devils by Florence + The Machine. It doesn’t fit the overall mood of the fic, really, but it fits Techno specifically so well that I had to use it.

It is after the battle, and the sun is setting. Techno throws together a shelter in the nearby forest out of long sticks that he stomps on to make sure they’re sturdy, and throws a couple torches around the perimeter of it. His netherite armor presses down on him and makes his muscles ache, but he doesn’t take it off quite yet, as the voices warn him not to. He finds a nearby stream and washes the blood off of his sword. The purple enchantments glisten under the clear water.

Techno returns to his lean-to, and on the small cot inside, he lies down and mulls over the events of the day.

Phil joined. He still hasn’t seen him. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen anyone since the battle. After the withers were killed and the Blood God released Techno’s mind from its clutches, he slipped away, already making immediate plans for where he would sleep that night away from where his enemies could find him. Not Pogtopia, because that’s the first place anyone would look. Not L’Manburg, because it doesn’t exist.

Techno doesn’t feel guilty. It had to go. Although the Blood God was influencing him at the time of the destruction, his views remained. L’Manburg was just another government. So what if Tommy and Wilbur loved it as much as they loved each other? 

And anyway, destruction and death and decay are his lifeblood. They always have been, and they always will be.

Techno hasn’t seen either Tommy nor Wilbur since the former screamed at him for being a ‘traitor’. He chuckles darkly to himself at that, because the kid just doesn’t  _ get it.  _

He wonders where Wilbur is. He doesn’t think about it too much, though, as his brain feels fuzzy and dull. If it weren’t for the Blood God, he could stay up all night and fight an army in the morning, but he knows well enough how much the entity drains him. He still fights to stay awake.

If Techno could be bothered to, he would puzzle over what happened with the TNT that destroyed Wilbur’s country. But it worked out to his advantage anyway, so he doesn’t care too much. The bone-deep exhaustion fortunately prevents him from caring at the moment. _ I’ll think about it in the morning,  _ he thinks, gives in, and drifts off to a restless sleep. 

That night, Techno dreams of explosions and screams and blood red tendrils that wrap around his limbs and leave him powerless. So, in other words, nothing out of the ordinary.

He wakes in a cold sweat- again, normal- and grunts in discomfort at the realization that he fell asleep in his armor. The edges of it dig into his body painfully, and he hastens to take it off. Beneath his wrist wraps is his communicator, forgotten. It has run out of battery, and Techno is nowhere near any redstone, so he just sighs and keeps it strapped to his wrist until he gets the opportunity to charge it.

Techno becomes aware that his throat is bone dry, so he heaves himself up from his cot to go and take a drink from the stream he found earlier. He emerges from the lean-to, and comes face-to-face with a creeper, expanding and hissing in the way it does when it’s about to-

_ BOOM. _

Techno ducks behind a tree just in time, but is knocked down to four hearts anyway.

_ The one time I go outside without armor,  _ he thinks and shakes his head in resignation.  _I must be really tired._ He goes back into his shelter, puts the armor on  _ again _ _-_ and that makes him aware of the bruises. He doesn’t know where exactly they came from- probably from some point on the 16th- but the netherite chestplate presses painfully on what feels like a particularly large bruise on his ribs. The voices are split, some offering sympathies and some calling him weak. He agrees with the latter. The Blood God’s presence hums in satisfaction.

Techno gets his drink from the ice-cold stream. The water is so freezing that it’s less refreshing and more painful, making his tusks hurt. He is well aware of the risks of dehydration, so he drinks anyway and ducks back into his lean-to to contemplate plans for the day.

He has his best weapons and armor, a ton of pearls and gapples, a couple potions, and plenty of food, he reckons. If he can get to his vault, he can get enough supplies to travel elsewhere and build a home.

_ What will you do when you get there?  _ The voices ask.

“I don’t know.” Techno mutters. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

He’ll have to be stealthy, since he’s going to be around L’Manburg- or what’s left of it- and there’s a high likelihood that there will be people around the area that he needs to get to. But that shouldn’t be a problem, unless they’re armed well and he’s heavily outnumbered.

_ You can’t 20 v 1?  _ The voices taunt. _ Cringe. L. _

_ E _

_ E _

_ E _

Techno rolls his eyes, checks his inventory, and sets off through the forest.

As he walks, he wonders again what Wilbur, Tommy and Phil are doing. Wilbur seemed somewhat... better, last time Techno saw him, but with the destruction of his precious country, he’s probably not doing too well. Tommy is probably with Tubbo, crying over L’Manburg too. And Phil? Techno has no idea what Phil is doing, or why he’s even there.

Maybe to be a decent father to Wilbur and Tommy.

Anyway, it would be nice to see Phil after so long. Techno, truthfully, didn’t have time to write.

Techno’s starting to get closer to the entrance to the vault. He creeps through the forest-

He feels the footsteps before he hears them, piglin senses kicking in.

It seems to be only one person, so not a challenge by any means, and Techno can’t hear the telltale clink of armor on them, so he deems it safe to sneak closer.

He makes no sound on the fallen leaves, stepping nimbly behind a tree and then behind the next one. 

Then he sees him.

It’s Tommy. And in his arms is a body, that looks like-

_ Wilbur? _

Techno inhales sharply. 

Tommy is clearly struggling with the deadweight he carries, but he pushes onward to who-knows-where, like the stubborn kid that Techno knows he is.

Techno gets a little closer, and that is enough to see Tommy’s red-rimmed eyes. And now, the identity of the body is unmistakable. 

It  _ is _ Wilbur.

The air feels like it’s been knocked out of Techno’s lungs.

He steps out from behind the tree.

“Tommy.”

Tommy jumps and whips around to where Techno is standing. Techno expects the kid to scream at him, say how it’s all his fault. But he doesn’t.

“Go away.” He says brokenly. “I can’t deal with you right now. Fuck you. Go away.”

Techno gulps. Dealing with a furious Tommy would be so much easier...

“Wilbur’s dead.” Techno says, half question, half statement.

Tommy doesn’t respond, just looks away.

Techno ignores the twisting feeling in his chest.

“I can help carry him, if you want-“

“ No!”  Tommy yells. “I don’t need your help, leave me alone,  _ please!”  _ He pauses for a shuddering breath. “You don’t deserve to bury him,  _ I’m _ his brother, you never wanted to be. Get the fuck away.”

Techno is gone before Tommy finishes.

He abandons the vault mission and goes back to his lean-to, stumbling through the woods, cracking twig after twig and not noticing.

Wilbur is dead. The voices cry out their grief.

Techno staggers into his shelter to find that someone is already there.

Phil sits on the single stump inside, dripping a healing potion onto his wings. They are tattered, and Techno realizes that they must have been damaged in the explosion.

His eyes flick up to Techno’s face and back down again. Phil looks like he’s trying to say something, and Techno thinks he knows what it is.

“I know.”

Phil breathes out shakily and nods.

“We need to leave.” Techno says, but this time Phil shakes his head.

Techno doesn’t ask why, and then Phil speaks.

“Not yet. I can’t leave yet.”

Techno nods.


	5. how can i exist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil comes to stay with Techno in his lean-to, and goes off to try and find them a new home, away from it all. He didn’t expect for it to be so hard to stop thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter’s title is none other than Can I Exist by MISSIO. I first heard it through the iconic Late-August animatic called Desolate, and I think it fits post-November 16th Phil’s character really well.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: mentions of blood, self-harm (kinda, not really, it’s more in the sense of that Phil doesn’t try to protect himself from harm)
> 
> Enjoy!

Phil doesn’t help Tommy bury Wilbur, because murderers don’t lay their victims down and put flowers on their grave.

After Tommy comes and picks Wilbur’s body up with shaking arms, Phil realizes what he has to do.

He has to tell Techno.

He hasn’t seen him in months. 

But he heaves himself up and ignores the blood on his hands.

Techno is normally good at covering his tracks, but Phil knowswhat to look for; the slight indentations in the damp leaves covering the forest floor, and a narrow trail of blood- which Phil somehow knows isn’t Techno’s own.

Sure enough, the subtle trail leads him right to a crude shelter made out of sticks built up against a tree. He sees the gold rings laid down on a stump inside it, and knows that it is Techno’s place. But he isn’t there.

Phil carefully takes the rings off of the stump, placing them on the canvas hammock, and sits, waiting and trying not to think.

It doesn’t take long until Techno shows up.

Phil hears him coming long before stumbles into the lean-to with a crash and a racket that is totally unlike him.

Phil opens his mouth-

“I know.”

Phil exhales a trembling breath of relief.

Techno has a look on his face that Phil can’t identify, and when he speaks it is with careful, poignant omission.

“We need to leave.”

Phil pauses, then shakes his head.

_ No. _

“Not yet.” He says. “I can’t leave yet.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to leave, it’s that he  _cannot._ His soul feels permanently tethered to this place, to the land where his son walked and talked and laughed and breathed. The button room is the space in the back of his mind.

Phil doesn’t think anymore, though. He can’t think of why he won’t just get up and leave with Techno, because it’s that simple, but somehow... it isn’t.

Techno doesn’t question it.

—=—

Phil stays with Techno that night. They expand the lean-to to accommodate the both of them, but it is still cramped, and Phil has to keep his wings folded while inside. Not that he would try and stretch them anyway; when he tries, there is a sharp burst of pain and he instinctively folds them again. He lies on his stomach to sleep that night, so that his wings aren’t further damaged. He slowly drifts off with a buzzing still in the back of his mind...

_ “Kill me, Phil.” _

_ Half smile, half desperate grimace. _

_ “You’re my son! _

_ Tear tracks on a grimy face. _

_ “Do it.” _

_ The flash of a diamond sword and then there’s blood, blood, so much blood, BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD- _

Phil wakes with a start and hits his head on the sticks above him. He grunts in pain and presses a hand to the spot that he hit, because it’s distracting and takes his mind off the dream. He needs to forget that dream. He needs to forget what it was about.

Techno is staring at him with eyes that glow gold in the darkfrom where he sits up on his cot, and Phil feels a rush of guilt.

“Sorry, Tech. Just had a bad dream. Did I wake you up?”

“I was already awake.” Techno responds tersely. His stare doesn’t waver, and Phil wavers under it. His eldest has always been discerning, dangerously so...

“Phil, if you don’t mind me asking- how did Wilbur die?”

Phil freezes.

“I- I’m not sure. I think he died in the explosion.”

“No.” Techno says. “No, I saw his body.” He pauses, as if to gage Phil’s response. “It looked like he’d been stabbed through the chest.”

Phil remains quiet because he has  no idea what to say, and Techno speaks again, carefully. 

“I never saw you during the battle, Phil. Where were you-“

“I did it.” Phil whispers, and doesn’t elaborate because he’s not sure he can. He hears Techno inhale, a quiet gasp of cold air.

“Oh.” Is all the other man says.

_ Although not by blood, Techno and Wilbur were brothers. Phil remembers that bond as clearly as ever. From the second that Phil brought Wilbur to their cabin, they got along like two peas in a pod (as Phil used to say, until Wilbur told him it was uncool.) _

_ It was Wilbur who first had the idea to braid Techno’s hair, after the latter refused to cut it. _

_ “Piglins keep their hair long. It’s tradition.” Techno said to Phil at 8 years old, bottom lip stuck out, pouting stubbornly. _

_ “I’m sorry, Tech, but you’ve gotta cut it.” Phil said. “It’s impractical to keep it this long, it gets everywhere.” _

_ “I’m not cutting it.” _

_“You could tie it up.” Wilbur suggested, and_ _Phil nodded. “That could work.”_

_ “But I don’t know how to tie it.” Techno muttered quietly. _

_ Wilbur suddenly gasped. “Can I?” He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet eagerly. Techno looked at him suspiciously. _

_ “You’re gonna cut it. Phil put you up to this.” _

_ “Not true!” Wilbur said. “I’m gonna braid it. Look.” _

_Wilbur brought his hands up to the fluffy mass of hair hanging in front of his eyes and began to weave a tiny_ _braid, fingers deftly looping the strands over each other._

_ “See? I can braid. And I’d never cut your hair if you didn’t want me to.” _

_ Techno hesitated. “Fine. But if you do anything to it I’ll stab you.” _

_ Wilbur grinned. “You wouldn’t stab your own brother.” _

_ He began to braid, strand over strand. He wasn’t too adept at first, tugging a little too hard and making Techno hiss in discomfort, or tangling the thick pink hair into mats that had to be worked at for ages with a comb to get out. _

_ Luckily, Wilbur got better over time.  _

_Phil would sit and watch his sons as Techno’s hair was_ _braided, listening to their conversations and their laughter. After Wilbur learned more about Piglin culture and how they treasured gold, he asked Phil for help in making a golden ring for Techno. He darted off to present it to his brother the second the metal cooled. Techno wore it around his braid every day after that, and Phil later found out that it had both his and Wilbur’s names carved into the wide band, by Wilbur’s messy hand._

—=—

Phil sees Techno raise a bandaged hand up and lightly touch the ring, still in his hair.

Eventually, they both get to sleep.

When Phil wakes up, Techno is gone and the ring is laid down on his cot, glimmering in the torchlight.

Phil wanders outside to find Techno fishing in the gentle, bubbling stream. His hair is down entirely, hanging in front of his face, and Phil hadn’t noticed how long it really was until now.

“Hey, Techno.”

Techno makes a gruff noise in response.

“Mind if I join you?”

The other man turns to face him, and Phil  _flinches._ He knows that Techno notices, from the way his eyes narrow. But his son just shrugs.

“Sure, do you have a rod?”

“No.” Phil says. “I just got on this server, mate.”

Techno shrugs again. “I pulled one up a while ago. Luck of the Sea three and Lure two. Not too bad.” 

Phil takes the rod and casts the line out. It breaks immediately.

Somehow that is a last straw of some kind.

“You know what, Techno, I’ll just go hunting, see if we can get some meat for dinner.”

“M’kay.”

Techno doesn’t look at him.

The bedrock-heavy weight of guilt is becoming very familiar to Phil.

— =—

He sets off, writing the coordinates of the lean-to in his pocket journal.

Phil’s not going hunting. They have plenty of food.

He and Techno need to get far away from these lands.

He makes a nether portal in the forest and pauses after he lights it, just to feel the strange, indescribable and frankly disquieting effect that the portal has on a living body. The warm, liquid pulling feeling is familiar to Phil after so many years of exploration.

It reminds him of meeting Techno for the first time.

He grits his teeth and steps through the portal.

He walks across the netherrack, the blood-tinted stone crunching beneath his boots. The heat of the nether welcomes him like an old rival would. The lava burbles and spits below, like jeering laughter. 

He travels a couple hundred blocks, leaping from one basalt pillar to another. One crumbles and he narrowly misses the lava, even though it’s only a small puddle and easily avoidable. The tip of his wing brushes the surface, and he pulls it away.

It’s on fire, but Phil doesn’t put it out.

He passes some piglins, who nod at him warily and turn away.They seem to know he has nothing to offer, and he has nothing against them, so they go their separate ways.

The thought of Techno flickers through Phil’s mind again, but he brushes it away, shaking his head. 

_How could they know him._ He thinks.  _This is a different server._

He continues on for a while more, until his legs ache and his burned wing really begins to sting. Then he builds the portal and lights it, stepping inside and letting the pull consume him.

Phil steps out, and sees white.

It’s a tundra, stretching out as far as he can see. Fresh snow is on the ground, untouched and sparkling in the afternoon light. The sky is blue and endless, and the cold air whips around Phil’s hair in a way that makes him think of flying.

If the nether was a rival, the tundra is an old friend.

It reminds Phil of better days, and he feels something bittersweet swell in his chest. 

The voices creep into his consciousness.

_It’s like the Antarctic Empire._ They whisper wistfully.  _With Techno._ Phil tries to ignore them, focusing on the feeling of the cold, smooth obsidian of the portal beneath his calloused fingertips and the uncomfortable bone-deep chill that comes from him not being dressed nearly warm enough. 

_Tommy was there too,_ the voices remind him.  _And Wilbur-_

“Shut up.” 

Phil impulsively punches the obsidian, and his knuckles begin to bleed. 

He steps back through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Philza Minecraft is going THROUGH it. F in the chat.
> 
> Sorry that this one is short, I just needed to have a bit of an intro for how Phil is going to be going forward (stuck in the denial stage of the 5 stages of grief.) More will come soon, this is the last chapter that I had written prior to getting my AO3 account. I will try to update once a week or so, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Next up is Tommy’s POV :)


	6. shaking like a leaf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy buries Wilbur, using his memories of him to get him through the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a short chapter again, sorry. I just need to get things going, and then the chapters will be a better length.  
> The title of this chapter is taken from the song I Of The Storm by Of Monsters and Men. The song as a whole feels like it could be from Wilbur’s POV, but the lyric that I used for the title I thought fit well with Tommy in this chapter.
> 
> TWs for this chapter: blood (it feels like that’s there every chapter, wow), non-graphic descriptions of a dead body, temporary paralysis, mentions of night terrors, implied/referenced emotional abuse (kind of, I don’t know)  
> I’m not sure if all of these are necessary, but I want to cover all my bases. Stay safe.

Tommy trudges through the fallen leaves of the forest with Wilbur’s body in his arms.

The blood from his brother’s wound has already soaked into the white of his shirt, and it’s beginning to dry. His tears fall onto the stain. 

_ Techno just  had  to show up, didn’t he.  _ Tommy thinks.  _ Why can’t he just fuck off. He doesn’t deserve to bury Wilbur. _

_ He doesn’t care like I do. _

Tommy keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead. His arms ache and his legs tremble, but he carries on. He just needs to get to the L’Mantree. For Wilbur.

_ Wilbur. _

He really is gone.

Tommy makes the mistake of looking down at the body, and then he sees his brother’s familiar face, but it’s so  _wrong,_ his warm brown eyes now glassy and unseeing, his once rosy cheeks pale and lifeless, and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

And just like that, Tommy collapses to his knees among the decomposing leaves.

He shivers and shudders with sobs, but there are no tears. Maybe he’s run out already.

But he  _ has  _ to get up. He has to keep going. He’s not even seriously injured from the battle, it shouldn’t be this hard...

He can’t make himself stand and keep on walking. Not even for his brother. 

_I’m useless._ Tommy thinks, and feels that if Wilbur was alive, he wouldn’t be proud.

He still can’t stand. His whole body trembles.

Tommy screams in frustration.

Wilbur needed a resting place, and Tommy couldn’t even give that to him.

Suddenly, a memory pops into his head, from the early days of L’Manburg, after the first war was won.

_ “Relax, Tommy.” Wilbur whispered. Tommy couldn’t move, paralyzed with the isolating feeling of helplessness. _

_ Tubbo came into the room, blue eyes wide. _

_ “Another panic attack.” Wilbur muttered quietly, before turning back to his brother. “Tommy, can you hear me?” _

_ “Yeah.” Tommy whispered, so quietly that Wilbur had to read his lips to understand him. _

_ “Okay, good.” Wilbur reached for Tommy’s hand, clasping it between his own. “Tell me what you see.” _

_ “You.” Tommy croaked. “Tubbo.” _

_ “What about your surroundings?” _

_ “The camarvan. Brewing stands.” _

_“Great, Tommy. What can you hear?”_

_Tommy’s chest began to loosen up._

_“Birds. The water outside.”_

_“Okay, last one. What can you feel.”_

_Tommy paused. “The floor.” It was cold and smooth. “The wall.” His back was pressed against it. “Your hands.”_

_Wilbur‘s expression was soft and warm. He squeezed Tommy’s hand with his own._

_“Do you feel better?”_

_Tommy inhaled, slowly and shakily._

_“Yeah. I think so.”_

_Wilbur smiled, and behind his glasses his eyes crinkled at the corners._

_“Do you want a hug?” He opened his arms, and Tommy wanted nothing more._

_But he scoffed and turned his head away. “I guess.”_

_Tommy lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his brother, nestling his face into Wilbur’s signature yellow sweater, and reminded himself._ It’s okay. Everything’s okay. 

_That time, he began to believe it._

_“I’m still a big man, by the way, so fuck off.” Tommy grumbled into Wilbur’s shirt._

_“I didn’t say anything.” Wilbur chuckled fondly. “But okay.”_

_He ruffled Tommy’s hair._

—=—

_ “Tell me what you see.” _

Tommy can hear his brother’s voice in his head, a phantom left over from better times. But he looks around, and takes a heaving breath. 

_The trees._ He thinks.  _The leaves on the ground._

And in his arms...

_You._ Tommy whispers inside his head, and promptly starts crying again.

_“It’s okay, Tommy.”_ That’s what Wilbur would say.  _“Take a deep breath. Now, what can you hear?”_

Tommy stills, listening.

_A crow._ He thinks.  _The leaves rustling._

He turns to look at the source of the commotion. There is a red squirrel, scampering up a tree. They were common in SMP Earth, too, he remembers.

Now Wilbur would ask Tommy what he can feel.

“The air.” Tommy whispers. “Cold. A stick on the ground.”

_“Great.”_ His brother would coo.  _“Do you feel fine now?”_

Fine, no. Better, yes.

And when he tries, Tommy finds that he can stand. And take a step forward. And another one. And another.

He’s going to bury his brother, if it’s the last thing he’ll do.

The rest of the walk is a blur, as Tommy fights to keep going, stumbling on stray stones and sticks. And eventually, he gets there.

The L’Mantree stands as tall as ever, casting speckled shadows on the still dewy grass.

It’s one of the only things left of Wilbur’s symphony. 

Tommy remembers during the first war, when Dream’s opening attack loomed nearer.

_“Tommy.” Wilbur told him, as they gazed up at the TNT cannon._

_“What?”_

_“If I die, bury me under that tree.” He gestured to the lone oak tree, swaying peacefully in the early fall breeze._

_ “What do you mean  if you die?”  Tommy sputtered. “You’re not going to die. I’m not going to die. None of us will. We’ll all be fine.” He frowned up at Wilbur, who smiled sadly down at him. Wilbur affectionately ruffled his hair. _

_“Unfortunately, it is a possibility.” He said seriously. “We’re in a war, Tommy. Death happens.”_

_Tommy was quiet for a moment._

_“I know.” He muttered. “It’s not fair.”_

_“Tell me about it.” Wilbur chuckled grimly._

_There is another moment of silence._

_“Why that tree?” Tommy asked._

_Wilbur shrugged. “I like it. It’s beautiful, and peaceful, and it stands strong. It’s like L’Manburg, in that way, you know?”_

_“That sounds like your stupid poet shit.” Tommy scoffed. “Comparing a country to a tree.”_

_Wilbur laughed. “But it’s true.”_

_They both turned to look at the tree._

_“It’s kind of pretty, I guess.” Tommy admitted, and Wilbur grinned at him._

_The oak tree continued to sway in the wind._

—=—

Now, with the L’Mantree still swaying, Tommy sets Wilbur’s body gently down, takes out his iron shovel, and begins to dig in the tree’s shade, throwing shovelful after shovelful of soil to the side.

Sweat beads on his forehead as the sun creeps higher in the sky, and the crown of the oak does surprisingly little in the way of lessening the sunlight that bears down on Tommy. His arms ache with overexertion, and his hands are white-knuckled, gripping the handle of the shovel like a lifeline. 

Just when he thinks it’s deep enough, he remembers the saying.  _Six feet under._

He climbs into the grave, stands up, uses his own height as a measuring stick, and finds that it’s only around four feet deep.

But he doesn’t complain, not even internally.

Tommy digs more. And more. And more, and the sun above starts to get blurry, and the ambient noise around him becomes muffled, as if underwater, and he can hear his heart pounding in his ears-

The world goes black before his head hits the ground.

—=—

He only wakes up when the sun is beginning to set, pale streaks of peach, yellow, and pink smeared across the sky faintly. The undersides of the clouds are orange-hued, and the landscape as a whole would look rather appealing if Tommy’s vision wasn’t whited out from the sudden light.

He only remembers now that he hasn’t slept or eaten since the battle. 

_That might explain why I fucking passed out._ He thinks.

But it’s almost sunset, and he needs to bury Wilbur.

He keeps digging, and after what feels like only seconds, he stands up inside the pit again to find that it is finally deep enough.

He looks to his brother’s body. He had heard some people say that the dead often look like they’re asleep; that is not the case with Wilbur. His eyes are open, and his skin is tinged a pale ashen gray, and he looks nothing like the vibrant, animated Wilbur that Tommy once loved. 

No, still loves.

And Tommy is suddenly made aware that if he puts Wilbur in this grave, he’ll never get to see his face again. There would be photos, sure; but those aren’t the same.

But the fact remains, the one that Tommy has been repeating to himself since he first thought of it:

He needs to bury Wilbur.

So as Tommy lays his brother down in the grave he dug, he stares at every feature of his face, trying to remember what he looked like when he smiled, or frowned, or laughed. Tommy never paid attention to the minute details of Wilbur’s expressions while he was alive, and now he wishes that he had taken that chance when he had it. Wilbur’s laughs always made him laugh, Tommy remembers that clearly, along with the way his brother’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he genuinely smiled, or the way his face turned pink when he was roaring with laughter.

Tommy also remembers what Wilbur looked like, shouting at him in Pogtopia, his roaring tone and scathing words reverberating and echoing between the ice-cold walls of the ravine. Tommy remembers feeling small and scared, like he was a kid again. But when he was a kid, the monsters were (mostly) imaginary and Wilbur was always there to put an arm around Tommy’s shoulder, ruffle his hair how he always liked to, and take his mind off the fear. 

But in Pogtopia, Wilbur wasn’t the one comforting him. 

Wilbur was the monster.

The realization is as much of a blow as any physical impact. Wilbur did really bad things, to L’Manburg, and to Tommy’s friends. Tommy knows that. 

But Wilbur hurt  _him_ too.

 _He’s my brother, still._ One part of Tommy thinks.  _He deserves a grave and flowers on it._

The other part of Tommy disagrees. _Wilbur doesn’t deserve shit. He hurt so many people. He hurt me._

Tommy looks out at the crater that was once his country. He thinks of the memories that were made there. Some of his happiest memories, corrupted by cruelty.

He buries Wilbur beneath dark soil and leaves the grave unmarked.

He leaves, ignoring the pit in his chest.


	7. your absence ringing in my ears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I finished this chapter a lot more quickly than I thought I would, so I figured I’d post it. It’s from Techno’s POV, and his character is so interesting to me, so that might have helped me write faster, I don’t know.  
> The title of this chapter is taken from the song Cold Is The Night by the Oh Hellos (one of my favorite bands!)
> 
> TWs for this chapter: blood, intrusive thoughts, vague descriptions of violence, suicidal thoughts. Please stay safe.

As soon as Phil leaves to hunt, Technoblade sets down his fishing rod on the gravelly creek bed. He puts on his netherite armor, and fastens the golden chain of his cape. It shimmers mesmerizingly and he stares at it, entranced for quite a few seconds, until the voices begin to mock him, jeering at how easily he is distracted. It’s times like these he hates being a piglin shifter. 

Techno’s going to his vault, and this time he refuses to turn back.

He triple-checks his inventory; everything is there. The stack of ender pearls, plenty of gapples, a splash strength potion, and a totem, gleaming golden and distracting. The chance that he’ll need it is minuscule, but he tends to operate under the phrase ‘better safe than sorry.’

_Wouldn’t want to ruin the whole ‘Technoblade never dies’ thing._ He thinks. The voices drolly agree.

Techno rips a page out of his coordinate journal. At this point, he just uses it for spare paper; he has all the coordinates of places he needs to know safely in his memory. He scribbles a note to Phil in Piglin hieroglyphs, telling him his whereabouts. Since only the two of them know how to write and read the language, they began using it as a code when Techno was young.

As he writes the note, his hair dangles in front of his face, trailing on the paper, and he keeps having to sweep it back with a hand, only to have it fall stubbornly back in his way.

He glances at the ring on his cot, still gleaming in the flickering torchlight, and grits his teeth.

He’ll have to make do.

He places the note on the stump inside, and ducks out of the lean-to.

Techno arrives at the vault in what feels like no time at all, this time with no interruptions. He uncovers the entrance, throwing the wet dirt aside, and jumps without hesitation into the hole. The fall lasts for a few seconds. The air whistles past his ears.

He lands with a splash in the carved-out pool of water, and some droplets fly up to land on his face. He wrinkles his nose in disgust. Despite living in the Overworld for the large majority of his life, Techno still harbors a deep distaste for water. He assumes that it must be genetic.

He crouches down to flip the lever that opens the main vault. The pistons growl and grumble mechanically as they pull back, revealing the ladder that disappears downwards into the large blackstone room. He climbs down into it, and grabs anything that could be of use: ender pearls, enchanted gapples, and a hefty amount of building materials; spruce logs, concrete and stone bricks, to be precise. He’s always liked spruce wood, and rustic houses. He’ll have to ask Phil for help building it, though, since he’s never been the best at that.

Phil.

At the mere thought of his name, something unpleasant swells inside Techno’s chest. 

The feeling is unfamiliar and unwelcome, and he chooses to ignore it.

Once he gathers a sufficient amount of supplies, Techno sets a quick tripwire trap- for the likely event that someone will come to take the things that he left behind- and leaves the vault, closing the piston trapdoor behind him.

Then the idea comes to him.

Should he go to Pogtopia?

Chances are that no one would be there, because no one would want to be there after the events of the 16th. Techno could get the potatoes there, and bring some to wherever he’s going to settle.

He tells himself it’s for that reason alone that he ends up weaving through oak and birch trees, on the familiar path to the ravine.

He reaches the hill and clears away the dirt covering the hidden entrance. 

Techno walked through that same entrance just over a day ago, but it feels so much longer.

He descends the stairs into the ravine with his sword drawn but hanging at his side, just in case. And, just as he had expected, no one is there. The buttons covering every inch of the walls add an unsettling feeling to the place. Techno hears a bat chirp.

His footsteps on the stone floor sound all too loud without Tommy and Wilbur’s crowing voices drowning them out.

And, as Techno slips up and thinks of Wilbur, the voices pounce on his moment of weakness, beginning to chant. They repeat Wilbur’s name over and over and over, and it is like repeated punches to the gut, forcing Techno to squeeze his eyes closed, put a hand on the wall, and try to quiet the chatter in his mind.

But he’s unsuccessful.

The cacophony continues.

And everything in Pogtopia reminds him of Wilbur anyway, every wooden bridge made of logs stacked one over the other like a railway track, every air molecule that Wilbur once breathed, every empty space that he once inhabited.

The voices wail louder.

Something white-hot surges up inside of Techno, and in an impulsive flash, he slices upward with his sword. 

It scrapes the wall, and the sound is grating and painful, and  _god,_ is there nothing he can do to have even a couple moments of silence?

Suddenly, there is a quiet gasp from above him.

Techno whips around to see someone disappear behind a curve in the stairwell.

He wastes no time in grabbing an ender pearl and hurling it to where the person disappeared. There is the familiar pulling sensation, and then he is there, face to face with...

“Tubbo.” Techno says it as more of a statement than a question, quickly and deftly loading his crossbow with a firework and pointing it at Tubbo’s neck.

The kid is still in his presidential suit, frozen like a deer in headlights at the point of the other man’s bow.

Techno finds it almost funny- in a dark sort of way- how someone so official-looking can look so scared. 

Schlatt comes to mind.

Of course, Techno definitely knows that rank doesn’t mean any more than the fools who want power make it mean. 

Tubbo supposedly doesn’t care for power, but he is a fool regardless.

“Technoblade.” Tubbo’s voice trembles. Techno sees him swallow nervously. He also notices the still-raw scars that snake up from under the collar of Tubbo’s white linen shirt. “What- what are you doing here?”

“What I’m doing here, Tubbo, is really none of your business.” Techno says, as coolly as he can. 

He hopes against hoping that Tubbo didn’t see him just before.

“And I could ask you the same thing.” He continues, keeping his voice carefully monotone. “In fact, I think I will- what are  _ you  _ doing here? I thought you’d be making some  _ reparations,  _ if you know what I mean.”

Tubbo remains perfectly still, back pressed against the wall. Techno watches him arrange his face into such a clearly false bravado that it’s laughable. 

“I, um, I was.” Tubbo bleats. “We’ve started filling some holes in. I’m going to make good on what I said in my speech, L’Manburg’ll be back to how it was in its heyday.”

“Interesting.” Techno says. “With you as president, I assume?”

“Well, yeah, that- that’s the plan.” 

_ This kid really is an idiot. _

“Tubbo.” Techno sighs. “You just admitted to the most vocal anarchist on this server that you‘re going to build  _another government_ _._ Kind of a stupid move, if I’m being honest. You know I can’t let that happen.”

Tubbo gulps. Techno suddenly notices the little stubs of horns that protrude from his brown hair. “We have more people on our side.” Tubbo trembles, but continues. “You have no one but Phil. Tommy doesn’t like you, Wilbur’s gone-“

Techno presses the tip of the firework under Tubbo’s chin, forcing his head up. 

“Don’t talk to me about Wilbur.”

Tubbo instantly quiets, blue eyes widening.

Techno keeps the firework pressed against the kid’s neck.

It reminds him of a similar situation, one involving yellow concrete walls and a firework just like the one in his crossbow now, blood-red and white stripes, packed with deadly gunpowder.

He remembers the firework exploding on impact, staining Tubbo’s crisp linen shirt with dark scarlet, before he faded away, leaving behind only bloodstains.

That was his second life gone.

One more and he’s done for good.

And Techno could kill him right here, in the same way, and watch the life drain out of his eyes. 

The Blood God wants him to.

But this isn’t the Red Festival, with many pairs of expectant eyes staring him down, cold and steely. It’s just him and Tubbo.

Tubbo’s eyes are a similar shade of blue to Tommy’s.

And, although he would never admit it, it is for Tommy that Techno lowers his crossbow and sheaths his sword.

The Blood God calls him weak.

Tubbo doesn’t relax, still pressed against the wall terrified like a sheep in a wolf’s sights. 

“Why are you here?” Techno says quietly.

Tubbo stares at him in shocked confusion, and Techno realizes that he had expected to die. 

_ He’s just a kid.  _ Techno’s heart opens to let in a sliver of guilt.

The Blood God screams at him.

“I wanted to see if I could find anything to explain...” Tubbo trails off, his uncertainty written plainly on his face.

“Go on.”

Tubbo takes a deep breath before a tumble of words spill from his mouth. “I wanted to find a reason why Wilbur did what he did.”

Techno tenses. Part of him wants to ask  _ have you found anything, why did Phil murder him- why, why, why. _

He shoves that part of him to the side.

“You should go.” He growls, fighting to stay calm.

Tubbo wastes no time in running up the stairs, out of Pogtopia and out of sight.

Once Tubbo is gone, Techno lashes out with a hard-hitting fist at the stone wall, riddled with buttons of every color. He almost  trips down the stairs, punching buttons just to feel them give under his fingers, and he wonders if this is what it felt like for Wilbur. 

Wilbur, who Phil, his father, murdered.

Techno punches a stone button so hard that it cracks.

He hears a piston open.

The sound reverberates in the silence, and the repeating echoes assure Techno that he didn’t imagine it.

_ The redstone circuit must use repeaters, _ he thinks, because the sound had come from far down the ravine. He rushes to where the noise was, and sure enough, there is an opening to a dark tunnel, with a dim orange light coming from the end of it.

He draws his sword and steps inside.

The tunnel is narrow and damp and smells musty. Techno has to duck down and turn halfway to the side to even get through. 

The walls seem to press inward, and just as he’s thinking that he might be a claustrophobic, he emerges into a larger room.

It’s empty, except for a book thrown face-down and open on the floor.

Techno leans down and picks up the book. The cover is made of leather, stained dark red. It is devoid of any identifying marks.

He turns to the first page, and his heart skips a beat.

_ To whoever finds this,  _

_ The fact that you are reading these words right now means that I am probably dead. _

It’s Wilbur’s handwriting. It’s atypically messy, but Techno could recognize it anywhere.

He doesn’t want to read whatever this is.

But, for some reason, he keeps going.

_ If I didn’t chicken out, L’Manburg is gone. I’m determined to see it through this time, and hopefully I’ll die in the explosion. If not, I’ll find some other way. It’s not so hard to die, when you think about it. _

_ I’m mostly writing this to tell people things that I can’t say to them now. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell everyone the things that I’ll write here. I just think that if I tried, you would all try to stop me, and I can’t let that happen. _

_ If L’Manburg is blown up, I want everyone to know that I didn’t regret it. _

Techno turns the page.

_ To Technoblade: _

Techno closes the book with a snap, and sinks down to his knees on the floor, breathing hard.

He can’t read it. He just can’t.

His hair hangs in front of his face, and he pushes it back, and that reminds him of how Wilbur used to gently comb his fingers through it-

He brings his sword up and slices through his hair.

He saws through strand after strand, and it’s frustratingly difficult, which only makes him angrier. He watches it fall to the floor, until what remains is shoulder-length and raggedly uneven.

But it’s cut, and that’s all that matters.

It’s too short to be braided now.

He stumbles out of the room, leaving the godforsaken book behind.  


—=—

The journey back to the lean-to is a blurred one; the sky is painted in shades of orange and pink. Techno reaches the makeshift shelter just as the yellow sun disappears completely behind the horizon. Phil is already there.

“Hey, Techno.” He says, clearly exhausted. When Techno comes inside and collapses on his cot, worry lines appear between Phil’s eyebrows.

“You alright, mate?” He asks, cautiously. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Something like that.” Techno mutters, and he is eternally grateful that Phil doesn’t question him further. That’s the good thing about Phil- he doesn’t push. And Techno doesn’t push him.

Because if Phil did what he said he did, Techno decides that he doesn’t want to know why.  _ Ignorance is bliss,  _ as they say.

So he will tell no one about what he found in that dark, cold ravine.

“I found a tundra.” Phil says, breaking the silence.

Techno remains quiet, and Phil continues.

“It’s not too far from here, and I’ve found a nether route. It’ll be pretty secluded, too, far enough away that we won’t be bothered too much.”

_ A tundra.  _ Techno thinks. 

_ Like the Antarctic Empire. _

Maybe, just maybe, it is for memory’s sake that he nods.

“That sounds like it could be good.”

The next morning they set off for the tundra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Techno really had a Mulan Moment (TM) and chopped off his luscious locks.  
> I hope you liked this chapter, and if you want, it would be awesome if you could leave a comment, and let me know what you think or if there’s anything that you want to see in this fic. Constructive criticism is welcome!


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